


unheard and sweeter

by Lil_Redhead



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, CS AU, Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Lieutenant Duckling, prisoner au, slave AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 14:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7644700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Redhead/pseuds/Lil_Redhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately after his brother’s death, Lieutenant Killian is betrayed by his naval captain and sold to the dreaded Dark One, Rumpelstiltskin. Two years later, Rumple kidnaps the Princess of Misthaven and assigns Killian into watching her. Rumple may want the princess happy so he can use her heart for a dark spell, but Killian finds he wants her happy for entirely different reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	unheard and sweeter

 

It’s times like these that Killian is almost glad that he’s alone. This way, it’s easier. This way, his mother and his brother won’t be here to witness him locking the Princess of Misthaven in the loneliest, dirtiest bastille in the entire realm, damning her to a life of misery.

He knows it’s not entirely his fault, but it might as well be. After all, they are his fingers preparing to seal the lock. They are his hands that dragged her kicking and screaming from her castle.

Killian doesn’t meet the princess’ eye as he inserts the skeleton key into the cage’s bolt, officially trapping her behind steel bars and ending her life as royalty. But even as he avoids her gaze, he can still see her hands gripping around the prison’s bars. Her knuckles turn white from her tight grasp, her nails dig into her skin, nearly drawing blood.

“I hate you,” she spits out. The words come out small, barely audible and coherent through her murmur. He is still able to make out the words even though they’re laced heavy with rancor and loathing. He wishes he were deaf. “I  _ hate  _ you!” She’s screaming now.

Killian turns away, unable to stand near her when the abhorrence is radiating off of her like rays of sun. Too bright to avoid, too easy to get burned by.

Her howls echo off the old stone walls of Rumpelstiltskin's palace, crashing into his gut and brain through his ears. His body moves on its own, perhaps as a form of masochistic punishment, and Killian meets her eyes.

They’re red-rimmed and burning with fire. Soul utterly gutted, Killian’s jaw drops. An inferno ignites within the princess as if it has been doused in oil. And she’s mad at him, furious and hateful, but the monstrous agony tearing from her lungs isn’t entirely for him.

He realizes with a start, she’s also mad at  _ herself _ . It flows through her quick and powerful, like lightning, all the torment, loss, and unmitigated failure.

She can only maintain the eye contact for a few tense seconds before she is reduced to soul racking sobs, her knees dropping onto the dusty ground of her cell. It’s when she starts clawing at her own face and hair that Killian cannot bear to watch any longer.

Before he too can crumble to the floor out of his own guilt, Killian turns to leave her alone in her cell.

“I’m sorry, princess.”

*

Killian remembers when he had first been sold to Rumpelstiltskin after the death of his brother, Liam, and he had practically sagged into his servant’s quarters, nearly to lifeless. Much like Emma, he screamed and sobbed, punched walls and spat in the face of anyone who came near him.

That was two years ago and the pain was still present in his heart. It wasn’t just Liam that had been taken away, but also Killian’s freedom. The princess was experiencing something very similar, and he’d been the one to bring it to her.

Lying alone in his bed, Killian stares at the cracks in the ceiling above his head. He connects the fractures and creates shapes, pretending the fissured holes are stars. Alone in his room, he creates his own constellations. And while there is solace in his own “star-watching”, the cracks above him are nothing compared to the real thing.

“How did she fare?” a high toned voice asks from his doorway. Killian cannot bring himself to look at Rumpelstiltskin, for he knows that if he looks up, the sight of his master will only make him nauseous with disgust. Perhaps that is the way Princess Emma felt when she looked at him today.

“How do you think she fared? We just stole away her freedom by trapping her behind the walls of her prison on the same day she turned eighteen. She’s inconsolable.”

When Rumpelstiltskin doesn’t answer, Killian turns onto his side to examine the face of the man who owns him. He knows a thing or two about not having any free-will, and perhaps it was too evident in his tone, for Rumple looks a little agitated.

“I want you to look after her. Lift her spirits or whatever it is you young lads do. Her heart needs to be contented if it’s going to work properly for what I have planned for it.”

Killian clenches his jaw when Rumple trills each of his “R” sounds.

“And what exactly do you have planned for her heart?” Killian forces his voice to remain steady through his own revulsion, but it feels like he’s trudging up the steep hill of a snowy mountain with nothing to hold onto: hopeless and dense.

“That is for me to know, and you to  _ not. _ If you want to keep your life, I suggest you do as you’re told and stop asking questions.”

The second Rumple slams the door, Killian turns over and screams into his pillow. When he had first been sold into slavery, Killian promised his good friend Rupert – the closest thing he had to a father figure – that he would do everything in his power to survive through the trial of slavery.

_ You’ll be a Lieutenant again, my boy. You’ve just got to have the strength to last through the tribulations until you can obtain your own freedom. _

He’s trying, he swears he is, but every time he closes his eyes, he can see the princess watching him with a piercing glower through her silvery tears.

*

“Princess, please eat,” Killian asks, attempting to mask how desperate he truly is. Emma sit curled up in the corner of her cell. Her arms are wrapped tight around her knees to keep herself balled up.

Killian has been at this for days, and each day, Emma looks more haggard and sickly. He wonders if she’s beginning to fall ill, or if it is the heat making her forehead drip with salty sweat.

“ _ Please, _ ” he begs. But she doesn’t move. She doesn’t even seem to be breathing.

Killian realizes what she’s doing, of course. Rumpelstiltskin had made it perfectly clear to  _ her  _ his intentions, and she is very keen on making sure he has no chance to fulfill them.

“Princess if you do not eat, he will come down here and force you to. I can promise you that it will not be pleasant, but you can prevent it by just  _ eating. _ ”

The implied mention of torture makes Emma shiver and turn around ever so slightly. Her eyes are just as red as they were when he first met her, and they seem to be worsening. Her cheeks look a bit sunken, but perhaps it is only because she is frowning so much.

“Why should I listen to you?” she murmurs, voice cracking with rawness half-way through her sentence.

“Because I am in the same position as you,” Killian breathes, dropping his voice and head low. “Trapped behind bars with no hope of freedom. Responsibilities and dreams left behind to rot with no hope of fulfillment.”

A tear trails down Emma’s face. Killian knows he has hit the mark perfectly, but it still makes his heart ache to tear open each of the wounds on her heart.

“But you work for him,” she says, voice a bit louder now.

“He  _ owns  _ me.”

Slavery is a cruel thing. It isn’t just the lack of freedom and endless servitude. It’s also having to admit it, to look someone in the eyes and tell them that you are another’s property. That type of humiliation isn’t the type Killian would wish on anyone.

“I hadn’t known,” is all she says for a moment, until she adds, “Who are you?”

Killian blinks twice. “Killian, your highness.”

Emma nods her head, tresses of golden hair swishing along with her, reflecting light from the torch outside her prison. “But who  _ were _ you? Before you were here?”

Killian reaches up to clutch his brother’s ring around his neck and gives a sad smile.

“Lieutenant Killian Jones of his Majesty King James’ Royal Navy.”

Emma sniffles and examines Killian’s face for the hundredth time, only for once, she doesn’t appear sickened by the sight of him. She lifts herself from the floor, and when she staggers and sways with dizziness, Killian’s hands dart to grasp the metal bars. With a deep breath, she evens herself out and allows composure to overtake her.

She says nothing as she moves to the tray Killian slid into her cell, and begins to eat.

Killian has not been more relieved in two years.

*

He visits her the next day, heart thumping with anxiety. Would she appear healthier? Had Rumple visited her after all? Was there a possibility that the two of them could be friends?

He finds her staring into nothing on her small cot. The color seems to have returned to her cheeks, but he cannot help but notice shiny streaks – residue from her tears. When she sees him, her glazed-over expression softens.

“Good morning, highness,” Killian greets gently. Emma raises herself up and looks behind him.

“Is he with you? Why are you here?”

“Believe or not, love, I’m actually here to keep you company. Master’s orders. I understand I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, but I did bring a peace offering.” Killian sits as close as he can to her, knees brushing against the steel bars that frame around her cell.

“You’re not the  _ last  _ person I want to see,” Emma mutters, probably picturing the face of Rumpelstiltskin. “What did you bring?”

“Chocolate,” he whispers. Logic tells him that if Rumple wanted to eavesdrop on the conversation, he would be able to hear whatever he wanted, even if Killian was simply thinking it. But whispering it to her makes it feel like is their little secret.

“Chocolate? Where did you get chocolate?” Emma darts forward, halting when she realizes she’s being eager.

“It was payment to  _ him _ by a foreign merchant who wanted to borrow some of the Dark One’s magic. Rumple really has no use for chocolate, though, so he told me to dispose of it. I snatched a little before I burned it all.” Killian hands a small sack of chocolate drops to Emma, offering her a kind smile. Maybe he hopes it will make her trust him more, which he doubts will happen, but he has to try.

She digs into the chocolate immediately, before freezing. Covering her mouth with a hovering palm, she asks, “How do I know you’ve not poisoned it or something?”

“I fear you only have my word, milady, but I assure you, I endeavor to maintain good form. Poisoning you would be bad form, indeed.”

Emma continues chewing but bitterly mumbles, “I’d say kidnapping is bad form.”

Killian’s eyes drop to the floor, his smile following shortly behind. “I would’ve given anything to prevent it, but even if I tried, he would’ve taken you anyways.”

His tone is small and filled to the brim with shame. It weighs heavy all throughout him, from his head, down his shoulders, to his fingertips and toes. Overcome by it, his forehead drops onto the metal bars in front of him and he squeezes his eyes shut.

He is jolted back when Emma shoves a chocolate into his mouth. The smell of her attacks his nose, like a thousand daisies and poppies and just a hint of cinnamon. Her green eyes, a little playful, raid him right in his heart, causing butterflies to settle in his stomach. And so he does the only thing he can do for a man so struck with a woman’s beauty: he chokes.

Somehow the chocolate almost lodges itself down his throat, and to prevent it, he coughs. He must look a little silly, because instead of reaching to help him, Emma only laughs a little. Killian knows she isn’t making of him, though. The look in her eyes is far too playful. Eventually his throat is clear and his coughing subsides into him clearly his throat.

“Thank you for the chocolate, Lieutenant,” she says carefully, examining his eyes. Killian doesn’t want to read too much into the newly pink color of her cheeks, because the rest of her is guarded and seems to be having difficulty trusting him.

“What else can I bring you?” he breathes in an automatic response.

“What?” Her eyes widen.

“Books? Puzzles? Sketch paper? Something to help you pass the time.”

Emma thinks for a moment, not meeting Killian’s eyes. He knows she must choose carefully, because he won’t be able to bring her things frequently. She must choose something small, something that can be hidden under her canvas cot.

 

“Ink and a brush.”

Killian nods, not wanting to ask where the strange request had come from. They are easy enough objects to obtain. Why, he can give her his own ink and brush since he never uses them. What she would write on, he didn’t know, for she had no paper.  

 

But that night Killian searches for his ink and brush, delivering it to her when he is sure the Dark One has retired to his outside tower for the evening. In return, she grins her first genuine smile, brighter than any of those fake constellations he can picture on his ceiling. 

 

*

 

He practically sprints down the stone staircase to the castle’s prison, but slows when she is in earshot. He imagines his rushing is a sign of just how eager he is. When she comes into view, Killian finds himself exhaling deep from within his lungs and smiling.

The princess is lovely. She is pure art, standing on her small wooden stool and painting on her ceiling. The light from his torch seems to be hitting her cheeks just so, illuminating the curvature of her cheeks and the silken texture of her skin. Her rosebud lips purse in concentration as drops of ink drip onto her face. Straggly honey cascades down her back, framing her face like she is a rare, beautiful painting.

Killian cannot see what she is painting, the ceiling difficult to see from outside the cell. He approaches her, careful not to startle her.

“I’m glad to see you are already putting my gift to good use,” he says to her. Her head snaps over to him, but within seconds, she is smiling. “Will you tell me what you are painting?”

“You cannot see it?” Emma responds, attempting to wipe ink off her face but only making it smudge across her cheek.

“Black ink on an already dark ceiling that is out of my view? Not at all.” He beckons for her to come closer, which she does, if not a tad reluctantly.

Like he is wiping dust off a precious gem, Killian uses the handkerchief he keeps in his pocket to gently remove the ink from her face. It takes him a moment to realize that the ink has been gone for several seconds now, and he is simply brushing her cheek and looking into her eyes.

He supposes he must be staring at her in adoration, like a sailor looks at the sea when he has been gone for far too long. Emma, on the other hand, stares back in nervousness. The scared look in her eyes makes Killian snap his fingers back to his side.

“All gone,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

“You’ve come to keep me company again, Killian?” Oh, how sweetly his name tumbles from her lips. He wishes he could hear it over and over again.

“Aye, I’ve been told to keep your company during your stay here. I will venture to help you feel like an honored guest, rather than a prisoner. I’m afraid there’s not much I’ll be able to do.”

Killian feels the same way he did when his father abandoned him on board that merchant ship all those years ago: completely, utterly helpless. With almost no possessions to his name, and no way to gain any more, he knows he is not fit to be satisfying a princess.

“I don’t require much,” Emma says, reading his mind. “I’m sure your company will be enough.” She sounds positive, absolutely confident that his company will be everything she needs to endure the hell they’ve both been subjected to.

Killian cannot find the words to express how much this means to him, so he turns his head away and tries –and fails – at suppressing a smile.

*

For months Killian sits by her cell and watches her paint. He’s asked her time after time what it is she’s working on, but she only shakes her finger and continues her work.

During that time, Killian learns almost everything there is to know about the princess. Her interests – sword fighting, discovering, and of course, painting – and the things she absolutely despises, like the man who broke her heart just weeks following her first ball. Killian thinks that man is the injudicious he was ever had the displeasure of hearing about.

It’s when he risks his life stealing from Rumple’s kitchens to make Emma a large tankard of hot chocolate with cinnamon that Killian realizes he is in love with her. After all, there are only two things he would risk his life for: love and revenge.

Killian is so in love with her, that every moment he is not in her company, he feels as if he is suffocating. His being is empty of everything except a heavy hammering inside his chest and an image of her smile fresh on his thoughts.

She is what clears the fuzziness in his mind, but blurs the world around him into a haze. He can only focus on her. 

It’s when her eyes fall onto him, soft and gentle, that sometimes he thinks she might just love him too.

*

Killian lies on his back outside her cell, arm acting as a pillow to cushion his head. It’s far from comfortable, but it allows him to watch her and do nothing but.

Even though his sight can reach into her cell to examine her ceiling, he still cannot make out what she is painting, but sitting this close, he is able to at least make out a few of her strokes.

Today, Emma lays directly beside him on the other side of the bars. Their fingers brush against each other every few minutes, only to tear apart a moment later. The touch feels like when stones are struck upon one another, creating a flurry of sparks.

“I’m so unhappy, Killian,” Emma admits when the silence is too heavy. She sits up to lean against the wall, blinking rapidly. He wants to tell her it’s okay to cry, but he knows keeping up the stronghold protecting her emotions from overflowing is something she has to do for herself. She has to use all her strength to keep herself tied together or else she’ll feel like she’s failed.

“I know, love, but the unhappiness is keeping you safe,” Killian answers. He should be glad. Rumple assigned him down here to make the princess happy, and if she isn’t, then she’s safe from whatever the Dark One has planned.

But part of Killian really,  _ really _ wishes he made her happy.

“Sometimes I wish I could just offer him what he wants and be done with it. But my parents made me promise to fight.”

Killian reaches for her fingers, lacing them together one finger at a time. It’s the first time he’s touched her for more than a passing skimmed graze, and it feels  _ perfect.  _ Maybe his deep feelings for her make it seem like every touch was destined by aligned stars, but he hopes she can feel it too, how real and pure what they have is. 

 

The grip on his hand tightens, and Killian turns his head to see tears tracking down her cheeks. It had been months seen he’s seen her cry, but with his newfound desire for her happiness, Killian’s heart feels like it’s plunging in his chest. 

 

He pushes himself up to kneel before her, his hand still clasping onto hers. She follows, trusting Killian wherever he will lead her. As tentative as someone testing to see how cold the ocean water is, Killian reluctantly reaches his hand up to caress her cheek. Emma’s tears are swiped away with the contact, smearing dirt along with them. 

 

Emma peers at Killian, unconsciously leaning into his touch. This prompts him to continue smoothing the skin on her cheeks, and both of them wonder if the other can feel the electricity, the tingling sparks at the contact.

 

“I often forget that I am not the only one who had to leave dreams behind to become prisoner here,” she says in a low voice. Killian removes his hand, the soft gaze in his eye faltering as he realizes that in just a few second, the princess is going to tear down every single one of his defenses. “I am not the only one suffering.” 

 

“He doesn’t keep me in confinement like he does you,” Killian responds, a fake smile trying to devalue the extent of his own hardship.  

 

“But he taunts you by letting you look out the windows and see what could be yours. He waves freedom in front of your face and when he reach out to just barely touch it, he launches you back into darkness.” When Killian turns his head away, Emma reaches out to turn it back, force him to see her sincerity. 

 

“He took a good, brave lieutenant and made him believe he was nobody.” Emma’s heart breaks as she speaks the words, but it stings Killian more because he knows that she’s right. 

 

“I deserve it.” Killian tears away from her, putting distance between him and sitting with him his back turned to her.

 

“No Killian!” Emma exclaims. She strains to reach through the bars and set her hand on his shoulder. She speaks not in pleading or begging, but in a voice that is so sure, and strong. 

  
“You don’t deserve any of it,” Emma continues. “I’ve met dozens of princes, all men who have more wealth than they can hold in their treasuries and are supposed to be the most honorable men in the realm. But many of them are rude, arrogant, and self-serving. They’ve always treated me like just another gold coin to add to their collection, but you’re  _ different.  _ You believe in good form even though fate has dealt you this cruel hand.” 

 

Killian turns, but Emma can only see the side of his face, the point of his nose and forming scruff on his cheeks. 

 

“Killian,” and the way she says his name finally makes him turn and meet her eyes. They gaze at each other and it’s balanced. Both stormy ocean waves and calm forest greenery. “You treat me like I’m the only gold coin you’ll ever see, like I’m more than just a kidnapped princess with a few nasty sob stories.” 

 

“You are,” he murmurs. His eyes wander for a few seconds before they meet hers. “You are so much  _ more _ than you believe.” 

 

Killian inches back to the bars, looking at her face and memorizing all the freckles he can find. He counts them, connects the dots like he does on his ceiling and creates constellations. 

 

“I would give anything for you to be happy,” he breathes, air blowing back curls from her face. 

 

If Emma had doubted before, she doesn’t now. For months she’s wondered if he’s only been treating her like a friend or if he wants to be something more. She realizes, it’s both. She wants him to be her best friend, her greatest support, and the man she spends her life with. 

 

It’s a fast decision, she knows. It’s terrifying - the possibility that one day he could leave her too. But if she can really trust him like she feels she can, he’ll stay with her. He wouldn’t abandon her. 

 

So she does what her body aches to do. Hands moving on their own, she reaches through the bars and grabs hold of the collar of his baggy shirt. Instead of pulling him to her in a haste, she takes her time and leans forward, tugging on the cotton to pull him closer. 

 

He follows entirely willingly, eyes wide with anticipation, surprise, and most of all, affection. 

 

They align themselves with the space in between two bars and slowly close their lips together. Killian sighs immediately, reaching up to bury his fingers in her hair. Emma can’t reach much except his cheeks, so she hugs at the hair by his ears and grazes her fingers down his jawline. 

 

It’s the kind of kiss that goes on for eternity, but seems to only lasts a second.  

 

It hits her all at once. At first, it’s colors, thousands of bright vibrant flashes exploding behind her closed eyelids. As the kiss deepens, the colors begin to soften and trail down her nerves until they’re tickling the ends of her fingers. It turns into a feeling of security, warm and gentle, like his arms are tightly wrapped around her even though he can’t reach through the cell bars. He surrounds her, his essence tangible around them.

 

He doesn’t speak it, but she can hear it just the same, the vow to always protect - to fight for her happiness. 

 

*

 

He begins to take even more risks for her.  

 

It’s not that Killian isn’t incredibly thankful for the time he does spend with her, but months of kissing through bars has its downfalls - as knee weakening as the kisses are. Not to mention, Emma is starting to look a little frail. Rumple has been making sure she’s been fed properly, and Killian always makes sure that she eats the food given to her, but she can hardly move more than a few feet in the cell. 

 

When he’d first taken her down here, Killian struggled to keep a tight grip on her, her arms were so strong from years of sword training. Now, it seems as though a simple breeze could knock her over. 

 

One night when Rumplestiltskin is away in his distant tower, Killian notices that he forgot to lock away the keys to Emma’s cell. They were left in the chest where they’re normally kept, and a strange suspicion had told Killian to check the box. Sure enough, there they were, two silvery skeleton keys with a trace of rust along the necks. 

 

“It’s your opportunity to escape, Emma. Take it!” Killian tells her. Emma crosses her arms and holds his gaze, looking stronger than she felt. 

 

“And do you suppose he’ll just assume that I’ve picked the lock and set myself free? He would know it was you.” 

 

Killian reaches through the barrier and takes his hands in hers. 

 

“You know I would die for your freedom. In a heartbeat, without thinking about it. I would do it,” Killian tries to appease, but it only makes it worse. 

 

“And you think he’s just going to let me get away? He’d come after my parents, after my  _ people.  _ I have responsibilities to take into consideration, Killian.” 

 

“Oh, and you fulfill so many of your obligations rotting in a prison and romancing some lowly slave.” 

 

It’s somewhat of a low blow, Killian realizes after the words leave his mouth. Her face is torn between complete contempt and pity, but it feels like she’s stabbing him right in his chest, right where his heart beats. 

 

With a heavy exhale, Killian staggers backward. 

 

“You were wrong that day. I  _ do  _ deserve to be a slave. After the way I’ve spoken to you, how selfish I’ve been.” 

 

The disdain drains from her face as steady and slow as the sun setting on the western horizon. Unfolding her arms, Emma reaches a hand out of the bars. She holds out her palm and flicks her fingers, gesturing for him to hand the contents of his hands over.

 

“The keys,” she demanded. 

 

“What?” Killian sputtered. 

 

“Give me the keys, Lieutenant.” 

 

She always knew how to make him follow a command, reminding him of his rank and his obligation to hers. Wondering if she has changed her mind, Killian reluctantly places the skeleton metal into her open hand. 

 

His heart pounds, a repeated throb that he can feel all over his body, but everything in his body freezes the moment she reaches around the bars and unlocks the cell door. 

 

Instead of jumping out of her cage, she simply takes a few steps forward and pulls him in with her. He tumbles into her open arms, and it’s like kissing her for the first time all over again. 

 

Except it’s different. At first, she doesn’t lean up to press her lips to his. For those beginning moments, she simply wraps her arms around his waist and buries her head into his chest with a content sigh. Killian returns the embrace almost instantly, one warm around her waist, the other cupping her head. His noses burrows into her golden tresses, and it feels like it’s igniting an inferno in his very being. 

 

There’s suddenly reassurance. Killian doesn’t know where it came from, or what it’s for until Emma speaks. 

 

“I love you, Killian. Please don’t ask me to leave you.” 

 

Killian feels like his soul is shattering, but can tell it’s simply putting itself back together. After years of being the bottom of the food chain, almost tasting honor and success but having it taken away - to hear that he is loved...

 

He simply cannot believe it. 

 

He chooses to, though. In one movement, he’s pulling back from her and crashing their lips together. It’s more of a dance than a battle, the way their tongues move unison and the varied pressure applied on their lips. They take turns leading, Killian, then Emma, back and forth.

 

“I love you too,” he murmurs to her when they split apart. “You’ve no idea how earnestly I do, with my entire being. But, darling, you cannot ask me to watch you waste away your life in this cell. Not when we have the literal key to your freedom with us now.” 

Emma drags her fingers down his neck and places kisses along the smooth skin. 

 

“Let’s worry about it another night,” Emma decides, lips trailing along his jaw and around his mouth. He wonders if he’s reading the signs wrong when her nails claw down his chest, but he understands her intentions when her fingers begin working the buttons of his shirt. “For now, let’s just be together.” 

 

It’s when she pulls her dress over her head that Killian must remind himself of several basic facts. His own name, his age, his favorite color. The one thing that doesn’t leave his mind is that he is completely, carelessly,  _ unconditionally _ in love with the woman in front of him. 

 

“May I?”

 

She nods once, murmurs  _ yes _ , and his hands on her. Each of his fingers trail the soft skin of her body, starting at the curve of her breast and falling until he’s running over the outline of her waist. 

 

“Exquisite, darling,” he tells her in a voice as shattered as a mirror dropped from the highest point of her castle. She answers him with a shy smile, and then lowers herself onto her cot. She does not have to ask Killian to follow.

 

He makes love to her and it’s as though every inch and crevice of their existences were meant to fall together, to come into one being. Like they were designed for one another. 

 

It’s beautiful because it’s based off of genuine love, trust, and a dedication that Killian knows will make him ask her to leave him. It’s bittersweet, but he knows if it’s meant to be, if it’s as written-in-the-stars as he thinks, they’ll meet again.

 

*

Later that night, Killian finally finds out what Emma has been painting on her ceiling for over a year.

 

“Stars?” Killian asks. Her head is on his chest, and while the cot isn’t the most comfortable bed in the world, he has his princess in his arms and a smile on his face. 

 

“Constellations,” she corrects. “I’ve always liked to study the stars. It seemed like the only way I would be able to make this place feel like home at all was to draw the stars outside my bedroom. I spend hours connecting the dots, naming constellations and pretending they’re the night sky.” 

 

The weight on his chest grows heavier, but Killian only drops a kiss into her hair. A lump forms in his throat. 

 

“What is it?” she asks.

 

“I make constellations using the cracks and holes in my own ceiling. I have ever since I got here. It was my only solace to keep me from ending myself.” 

 

Emma climbs off of his chest, giving him an opportunity to sit up and admire her handiwork. The lines were barely visible, but several years as a deckhand and then lieutenant confirmed that they were incredibly accurate. 

 

“You make constellations too?” she admires. 

 

“The lines are already there, so I’m forced to work with what I’ve been given. But aye, I make constellations.” 

 

“Which one is your favorite?” Emma rolls onto her stomach, her naked breasts pooling together, making Killian’s mouth water. He clears his throat.

 

“Cygnus,” he states. Reaching under her stool, Killian grabs her inkwell and brush. He’s just barely tall enough to make the marks without needing the stool, but he draws the stars - which hadn’t been there before - and connects them with thin lines. “It reminds me of you.”  

 

Emma smiles.

 

*

The goodbye is bittersweet. Neither of them have agreed to it, but as the night goes on - in between making love and talking about their dreams - Killian can feel it. Emma is thinking about her chance, maybe her only chance, to escape. 

 

And she wants to take it. 

 

And it  _ kills  _ him. 

 

He was the one who suggested it, and he knew it would hurt, but she hasn’t even vocalized it yet. It’s pain he would willingly feel over and over if it meant she could gain back her freedom, and take control of her life again. 

 

Rumpelstiltskin would probably kill him, but it was a more than noble cause. Dying for the woman you love is the secret dream of every noble man, but what they fail to mention is the pain of leaving behind your soulmate and thinking about the agony she’ll be in at the news of your demise. 

 

“You were right,” she murmurs miserably. “I’m not going to get another chance.” 

 

Killian pulls her knuckles to his lips and breathes in her scent. 

 

“Very well, my love, let’s get you out of here.” 

 

Their hands are entwined together as they run through the palace and out the door. Killian is surprised to see that the sun is beginning to raise in the eastern horizon, painting the sky with magenta and fuchsia, melding with bright yellows and soft oranges.  He wished it was raining. 

 

Emma cries at the sight of the outdoors. She squeezes her toes into the dewy grass and basks in the breeze on her face. It’s difficult to see clearly with her eyes not adjusted to natural light, but even so, all the blurred colors she sees are magnificent. 

 

The princess spins at the freedom, arms outstretched around her, wide and open. She’s too busy dancing in her new liberation to see tears streaming down Killian’s cheeks. 

 

“Emma,” he states, voice low and serious. She stops spinning, a little woozy on her toes. Killian grasps onto her arms to steady her and bring her so that she focuses right on his gaze. “My love, my sweet love, it’s time.” 

 

“Can’t we stay together out here for a few moments longer?” Her tone sounds as though it is bordering between hysterical denial and fake happiness. Another tear falls down his cheek and Emma’s face falls. 

 

“No,” is all he says. 

 

“But-” 

 

“Emma,” Killian grabs her face in his hands. “He’s going to back very,  _ very  _ soon. I need to give you a head start. I need to lead him to believe that you’re still in your cell, and pretend that everything is normal.  It’ll buy you at least a few days, maybe a few weeks if I do it well.” 

 

Emma’s lip quivers, but Killian cannot look away. It’s agony, separating in this field of daisies and wildflowers. 

 

“You’ll come for me?” Emma asks hopefully. Killian nods, trying not to show that he is convinced he will not live to next month. 

 

“As soon as I am able, darling. The very second.” 

 

“And you won’t make me wait long?” 

 

“I will endeavor to secure my freedom in a timely fashion, love.” 

 

She pauses, looking like she’s about to fall apart beneath his hands. Killian is already breaking, cracking, shattering. 

 

“I love you,” he tells her. “I love you more than the number of constellations on our ceilings, or all the stars in the night sky.” 

 

A sob escapes her throat, choked back and almost barely released. Killian rubs her arms to comfort her, keep her warm. Emma touches any part of him she can reach, his cheeks, his chest, his shoulders, his hair. 

 

“And I love you, more than there are words in existence to describe.”

 

One last kiss, one last dance of their lips, one last feeling of the other’s heartbeat under their palms. Eyes shut tight. Sobs and breaths in between each kiss. Shaking hands and battered hearts. 

 

And then, she is gone. 

 

*

Killian tries not to act as miserable as he felt. He went though his days as he normally would. Spending most of his time in the (empty) bastille, bringing down meals with he would eat himself, telling Rumple that every day the princess was one step closer to happiness.

 

And perhaps the last one wasn’t a complete lie.

 

The morning Emma had escaped, Killian put her cell key right back in the box where he found it. To his astonishment, the box locked upon being closed for the second time. Not willing to question it, he went about his normal business and pretended as if nothing happened. 

 

The best part was, Rumple had no idea. 

 

“Jones, I’d like to check the princess’ happiness to see if she’s ready for my spell. Would today be a good day?” 

 

Killian was careful not to let his reaction reach past his eyes. 

 

“Honestly master,” he said as reluctantly as he could, “the princess has been in one of her homesickness spells. It should pass within a few days.” 

 

He knew he had just started the countdown to his death, that the clock was now ticking. It was impossible to keep Rumple away from Emma’s empty cell forever.

 

*

It is a long three days.

 

Right when Killian expects him to, Rumple lets out a frenzied, raging scream that originates from the basement. He closes his eyes, waiting. Moments later the Dark One appears in the center 

 

“How long?” he asks, green face turning purple with fury. 

 

“Almost a month,” Killian answers. “You could go back for her, but I’m sure they’re ready for you this time.” 

 

And maybe it only works because it is just so unexpected. Neither of them would have thought Killian capable of such a brave action, but with a princess waiting for him and their future on the line, he finds it within himself. 

 

But Killian rises to the occasion. 

 

He can feel the blade in his sleeve, the one laced with dreamshade - a poison he found in Rumple’s cabinet. 

 

“And you  _ knew?”  _ the Dark One screeches, taking a few steps closer. It’s all falling exactly into plan and Killian knows that this was blessed and fated by the gods. 

 

In his fury, Rumple did not notice Killian sliding the blade out of his sleeve. All it took was one lunge forward. One jump forward and Killian dove the blade into Rumple’s abdomen. The Dark one let out a gasp, dropping to his knees. 

 

“You underestimated me  _ crocodile.  _ You enslaved me all these years and thought I would not take advantage of learning your secrets?”

 

Rumple’s breathing came out in huffs as he looks down to find his own Dark One dagger lodged in his chest. 

 

“I’ll...I’ll just be reborn...” he spat out, blood sprinkling on Killian’s cheeks. 

 

“And I will kill you again in that life.” 

 

“I’ll  _ end  _ you.” 

“ _ Try.”  _ Killian said the words sharp, and angry. The magic wouldn’t flow from within the crocodile’s body, they both knew. The dreamshade had done its job. 

 

Long moments. Struggling, fighting, blood, tears, and then nothing. Killian can not believe it when his master slumps onto the ground, lifeless and gone. He cries out in relief, grabs his few belongings, and sprints away from the castle as fast as his legs could carry him. 

 

Finally,  _ finally, _ Killian Jones was free.

 

*

The princess sits on her throne alongside her parents, eyes void of anything except a dark glazed expression. 

 

She’s waiting, and that’s all she’s told her parents. After a month of sulking around, Emma is beginning to look less and less hopeful, but she forces herself to bite her cheek and lifts her chin. She will  _ not  _ give in to the feeling that he’s dead.

 

“Sweetheart, whatever you’re waiting for...It would’ve come by now,” her mother sometimes tells her. Emma shakes her head. It would mean her Killian is gone, and she cannot accept that. 

 

“I said I would wait. It’s only been a month.” 

  
And she’s not just waiting for Killian, she’s waiting for Rumpelstiltskin to show up with his slave’s head in his hands. 

 

One day, she hears quite the commotion outside. It’s sounds like a force of nature, but she can tell it is solely one man. The day she has dreaded has finally arrived, she thinks. The day when the dark one returns to lock her away - permanently this time. This time, there would be no Killian. 

 

She takes a deep breath, and holds it in her chest. 

 

“What’s going on?” her father asks a nearby knight, leaning low in hopes his queen and princess won’t hear him.

 

“A lunatic slave, Your Majesty. Something about killing the Dark One and seeing his love, the princess?” 

 

Emma shoots to her feet, takes a few steps before bellowing “ _ Let him in.”  _

 

When the door opens, Emma’s world stops turning. He’s far away, on the other half of the throne room, but he’s  _ here. _ Covered in blood, bruises, and dirt, but  _ here! _

 

“Killian?” she calls out to him. 

 

“Emma!” His response is a raspy cry and he runs toward her. Emma has to tell her guards to let him approach her, then is soon running to meet him halfway. 

 

The moment they fall into the other’s embrace, Killian’s legs collapse, and Emma catches him and lowers them both to the ground. They’re both a little misty eyed, smiling through their blurry vision. 

 

“You’re alive, you made it!” Emma gasps. “Did you really do it? Did you really kill him?” 

 

“Aye, my love, I blinded him with his own anger.” 

 

Emma cannot contain it any longer. She pulls him by the sides of his head and crashes their lips together. He tastes sweet, like happiness, love, and newfound freedom - not just for himself, but for her too. 

 

That night, they say goodbye to the prisoner and slave they once knew and create constellations in the sky in memory of the people they used to be. The people they grew from. 

 

But the constellation they like most, is the one they made right next to Cygnus. It’s one Killian’s constellations. It resembles a horizon, the one they both ran head first into the moment they became free. 

 

They call it  _ eleutheria _ . The constellation of Freedom. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
